Her phone buzzed once in her apron pocket while she was refilling the sugar packets. She glanced at the screen, saw the name Marcus lit up across it, and stepped a few feet away from the coffee station to answer it quietly. “Hey, is everything okay?” she asked, turning slightly toward the wall for privacy. She listened for a moment, her shoulders relaxing. “Good. Make sure he takes the evening pills with something in his stomach, not just water,” she said. “And if he asks about the gala tonight, tell him it’s nothing exciting. Raffle tickets and pie.” She listened again, a small, tired smile tugging at her mouth. “I know he’d want to come,” she said softly. “Tell him next year. I’ll be home by ten.”
She slipped the phone back into her apron just as Margaret Higgins passed by with a stack of programs for the raffle table. “Everything all right, dear?” Margaret asked. Not in a prying way. Just the easy concern of someone who’d known Emily since she was small enough to need help reaching the top shelf of a library. “Everything’s fine,” Emily said. “Just Marcus checking in. He helps look after my dad some evenings.” “That’s good you’ve got somebody reliable,” Margaret said warmly. “Family’s not always close enough to help the way we’d like.” “He saved me more times than I can count,” Emily said. “I don’t know what we’d do without him some weeks.” Margaret gave her arm a light affectionate squeeze and moved on toward the raffle table, filing the small exchange away the same gentle way she filed away most things people mentioned to her only briefly. A father needing looking after. A young woman quietly carrying more than anyone in this room seemed to realize. It wouldn’t mean much to her tonight. It would mean everything by the end of the evening.
A few tables over, Ruth Palmer sat alone, turning a paper napkin over and over in her hands. She hadn’t touched her plate. Emily noticed. Emily always noticed the ones sitting alone. She walked over and sat down across from her, not saying much at first. Just sat there a moment. “Mrs. Palmer,” she finally said. “You doing all right tonight?” Ruth looked up, startled to be seen. “Oh, I’m fine, dear. Just tired, I suppose.” “You heard about the demonstration tonight?” Emily said gently. It wasn’t a question.
Ruth’s eyes went glassy for a second. “I keep the porch light on now every night, even in summer when it doesn’t get dark till nine.” “That’s smart,” Emily said. “Doesn’t hurt anything to be careful.” “I just don’t like being scared in my own house,” Ruth said, her voice cracking slightly. “Forty-two years I lived there and never thought twice about it. Now I check the locks three times before bed.” “That sounds exhausting,” Emily said. “Not just the locks. Carrying that feeling around all day, too.” Ruth nodded, grateful someone had finally said it plainly instead of brushing past it.